Dreadful Things
by T0theM00N
Summary: Erik becomes sick with the flu and Christine takes care of him. Trying to keep it strictly Leroux, will be several chapters.
1. Chapter 1

If it had been a different time, the flighty girls in the Palais Garnier ballet corps might have described a face like a dead channel on the tv set-a fried, pixelated mess of mixed-up and pointed shapes. Those talks which used to amuse Christine Daae now filled her with unbearable dread, even as she lived with both-the face and the dread- and had not had a talk with the ballet corps for several weeks.

Erik was not horrible. Christine had no wish to end their friendship, but she very often wished they might be pen pals of a sort, and only see each other through written notes. Their friendly interactions passed unwillingly into the surreal when Christine watched-with some morbidity-a mournfully-dressed corpse squirm neatly into a plush, pink chair and read, or hum, or do any typical thing that a typical man would do.

It was a little horrifying how Erik could pervert the most normal things. Christine imagined it might be similar to a snake wrapping its cold, slimey body around her arm and then giving her a little kiss.

But he still wore his mask. She thanked him silently for that.

Christine woke up most days preparing herself for those dreadful things. _Keep calm breaths. It is no dream._ And on one day, as she stepped into the parlor and had a look around, she realized this:

She was alone.

"Erik?" she called. She wondered if he had slept in, though that didn't seem like him at all. She had never heard him get up, and Christine sometimes wondered if he got up early, or if he ever slept at all. The thought made her shudder.

"Erik?" she called again. He was not in the parlor; seemingly not in the kitchen. No music came from his room either, and in fact, there was no noise at all. Nothing but Christine's own breath, and her own voice.

"It might be a blessing," she said. "He probably went out. He might have left a note."

But she made no effort to look for one. She sank instead into a nearby chair, which groaned under her and, curiously, did not groan again when Christine tested it. Just as she had settled in, she heard the same low groan. She realized that it had not come from the chair. She stood.

"Erik?" she said more urgently. "Are you here?" She walked quickly toward his bedroom door. It was closed, and no light came from underneath it, so she knocked softly.

"Erik, are you inside?"

She pressed her ear against the door. The sound of rustling cloth and a few shuddering breaths reached. She heard a hoarse voice.

"Yes, I am here."

"You sound ill," she said.

"I am not."

Christine stood and thought a moment, her hand on the door knob. She felt very exposed standing outside the room. "May I come in?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I am not-not decent."

She heard the noises of a person shifting around. "I am coming in soon," Christine warned.

"Don't please."

"I promise not to look." She waited for a minute, listening at the door. "Are you ready?"

"I am not dressed!"

"Are you not dressed, or are you not dressed _nicely_?" She listened for his response.

"...I am not dressed nicely," he said.

"Then I am coming in." The parlor light lit the way as she pushed open the door. Erik's noises of disagreement were lost in a harsh coughing fit. She averted her eyes.

She had not entered Erik's bedroom since the first day he had shown it to her. In a way she was grateful for the large, almost ordinary door which hid so many dark things-coffins and spidery writings. But the door was always in sight from any seat in the parlor, and sometimes it was the thing she could not see which became the most frightening. She came closer to Erik's...bed. She saw that his face was bare, and his eyes were closed, so she kept her eyes at a point just above his head.

"Don't come in," Erik said.

"...I'm already in, Erik."

He made a small noise and turned his face away, pushing it into his pillow. "I don't have my mask," he said.

"I'm not looking. You said you were well."

"I am."

Christine looked Erik up and down. A thin blanket was thrown clumsily over most of his body, but a thin, spindly hand poked out from underneath it. A layer of sweat shone on Erik's skin, and his breathing was heavy. Christine forced her eyes up to Erik's face. She closed her eyes. She opened them again for a quick look.

She waved her hand before his eyes; they moved, but lazily.

Finally, she sighed. "You don't look well to me."

Erik huffed weakly and brought his hand up to cover his face. "Don't look," he said.

Christine reached out and placed his hand back on the blanket. "How long have you been ill?" she asked. "Erik?"

Erik kept his face turned away. He sighed. "Erik...went to bed ill."

Christine remembered. Erik had gone to his room so early last night, she had assumed he must be getting ready to compose. He had been quiet all evening. She felt a little more concern.

"Are you in any pain?" she asked.

Erik shook his head bluntly.

"How do you feel?"

He huffed and groaned and shifted in the bed. "Please go away. I feel nothing at all."

Christine leaned forward and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. Erik immediately stilled; he didn't even breathe.

"You have a horrible fever," she said.

"It's alright. I don't mind."

"Have you eaten? Did you have anything to drink?"

Erik was uncooperative. He huffed and whined.

Christine closed her eyes and scratched her hairline, sighing. "It isn't right to be ill in a coffin," she said.

"I am fine."

The two sat stubbornly in silence for a while. It was no contest-Erik's deep-sunk eyes fought to stay open and alert.

"Do you want to sleep?" Christine finally asked.

"Yes!" Erik said. "Yes, thank you. I'd like to sleep."

"Well you won't sleep here. Not in a coffin. You'll sleep in a bed."

Erik laughed and then coughed. "There are no guestrooms," he said. When he smiled, he looked more and more like a skull.

"Then you'll sleep in my room."

Erik's smile disappeared. "Christine, no," he said.

"I'll make you something to eat, and then you'll sleep in my bed." She began to walk to the door.

"But I-I am completely drenched!" He gripped the side of his coffin. "I will ruin it! Erik will make it all smell."

Christine looked at him with great seriousness. "Then you will have a bath."

The color drained from Erik's face. She closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

When the door finally opened again, and Christine pulled behind her a chair and a tray, she heard several low mutterings of, "This must all be a joke." Erik laughed weakly beside her even as she was placing the tray across his lap. It only ended when Christine rapped a wooden spoon against the coffin's edge.

"Really it's not funny," she said.

Erik cleared his throat guiltily. "I'm not sick," he stressed. "You're really just being silly."

"If you aren't sick, then why don't you stand up?"

They stared at each other expectantly for a moment. Keeping eye contact, Erik pulled his blanket slightly aside and shifted up in the bed. He faltered for a moment around the tray, and then leaned slowly back into the pillow. He broke the eye contact.

"How am I supposed to get up with that tray in the way?" he asked.

"Oh!" Christine cried. "Excuse me! Is your massive strength not impervious to wood? Oh, of course-I forgot about Achilles' breakfast tray." She lifted the tray with one hand and there was a pause. "Are you going to eat what I brought you?" she asked.

Erik swallowed and seemed to think about it. "I want to…"

Christine replaced the tray. "I'll bring it in then," she said.

When she did finally reappear it was with a bowl, a glass, and a napkin. She placed all three in front of Erik and then took a seat. He looked from the bowl to Christine, and then back to the bowl.

"Are you hungry?" Christine asked.

"Yes…" he said.

"Then eat."

Erik appeared to be caught between a decision.

"...It's stew," Christine prompted. "It's very warm. I'm sure it will be delicious." She placed a hand on the bowl and wiggled it toward him.

"Are you very busy?" he asked.

Christine thought a moment. "...No. Why?"

"I thought maybe you had other things to do."

Christine imagined steam coming out of her own head. "You said you were hungry."

Erik shifted uncomfortably in the coffin. "...I did, but I…Erik doesn't-"

Christine thought back to all her days spent in Erik's home. She remembered eating very nice meals. She remembered never enjoying a single one; Erik had always sat at the other end of the table with no plate, no glass, and his little, unblinking eyes flicking over her from behind the mask. At first she thought he did not eat because he did not want to remove the mask; she later began to believe he might've got some sort of sick feeling from watching her eat. And now she believed something else entirely. She gasped.

"You don't eat," she cried.

"No! I eat."

Christine sat back. "Then what is it?"

Erik fidgeted and rolled his eyes. "I haven't got any lips," he said quietly.

Christine looked at him. It was true-and yes, she had noticed. Where most people had a pair of little pink lips, Erik had bare gums and noticeable teeth. His skin was pulled back, as if eaten away by the ordinary insects which eat away at a corpse. He had a permanent grin. Christine swallowed.

"I imagine it must be difficult to eat with no lips," she murmured.

"No…" he said. "But it is embarrassing."

Christine gathered a deep breath and stole another look at Erik, whose face was tipped slightly down and away. His eyes drooped, and his shoulders sagged. The flush he had would make any normal person look positively ill, and yet Erik had never looked any healthier. She forced herself to compare him with an actual corpse: Erik was not green or rotting. She thanked God that at least his eyes had never popped out of their sockets. And despite how ill Erik was, with the sweat and the dirty clothes-still-he was meticulously clean.

"It's not so bad," she said.

"You haven't seen me eat," he reminded her.

Christine picked up the bowl of stew and dipped into it. She brought the spoon to Erik's mouth.

"Then let's see it."

Erik turned red all the way up to his ears, but he took the bite. Christine watched almost morbidly when his teeth scraped against the spoon, but she couldn't come to any conclusion on how it made her feel. Immediately, Erik's hand was up against his mouth while he chewed. For a moment after, his hand left his mouth and hovered around the spoon Christine was holding, as if he were going to take it himself. But Christine ignored it and dipped the spoon in again. She held it out for him to eat from.

It went like that for a while, except Erik eventually gave up trying to take the spoon from Christine. He even seemed to relax a little until Christine took the napkin and wiped off his chin. Eventually, he started taking bites much slower, almost reluctantly.

"Are you full?" Christine asked.

Erik did not answer.

"It's fine if you are," she said. "You don't have to eat all of it."

He nodded then. He tried to clean up his mouth more discreetly.

Christine began clearing away the tray. "But you must finish your drink. You've been sweating so much; you have to stay hydrated."

"Actually, I'm…"

"You're what?" Christine looked up from the dishes.

Erik looked at her like a caught deer. She hadn't noticed, but his blanket was pushed up almost to his chin.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"I am now. Yes."

Christine unhooked the tray, and the dishes made a racket on top of it. "No matter. The bath will warm you up."

"The bath?" He looked surprised.

"Yes, the bath. You didn't think I forgot, did you?"

"I'm not really going to have a bath, am I?"

"Well, you aren't sleeping in my room-in my sheets-unless you do."

"I can't stand. I thought it was a joke."

Christine smiled broadly. "Do I joke?" She walked toward the door with the dishes in her hand. "I said you would have a meal, and you had one. And now I am saying you will have a bath."

She looked back and Erik was blushing red again.

"I really don't want one," he said.

Carefully, Christine set the dishes down on a cluttered table and walked back to her chair.

"Well why?" she asked.

"...Why what?"

"Why don't you want a bath?"

Erik seemed more and more surprised. "I-"

"You were hungry earlier, weren't you? But you didn't want to eat because you were embarrassed about your teeth."

"I...Yes, but-"

"And you are filthy all over. And you can barely keep your head up. I'm sure it must be very uncomfortable to sleep in that coffin where you can't toss or turn, especially when you don't feel well. I'm sure you'd like to be clean?"

"I would..."

"If you have a bath, then you won't have to sleep in this cramped coffin anymore. I'm sure you're very sleepy."

"I am."

Christine flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but Erik didn't seem to take any comfort in it.

"Are you going to have a bath then?" she asked.

Erik frowned, but he nodded.

Christine stood and reclaimed the dishes. "Alright then. I'll get the water ready.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N

Thanks for all the nice reviews! I can't believe people responded so fast to the story. **If anybody has any ideas for what they want to happen next, go ahead and leave a comment.** **If not I might end the story here,** which I wouldn't like to do because I'm really enjoying this one. Okay thanks for reading:)

* * *

Of all the dreadful things which might drive a woman back to the beautiful world of the Opera Populaire, Christine had no doubt that the plumbing would not be one of them. She sat and listened to the spout churn out hot water so loud and bubbly it almost sounded like the chatter of her friends in the ballet corps. She let herself smile sadly for a moment, and then she added the nearby soaps and perfumes which she had taken from her own bath.

From the other room she heard a sneeze. Her hand paused over the water while she waited for the second one. She waited...Erik sneezed two more times, and she set down all the things for the bath and let the water run while she went for him.

"It's almost ready," she said as she came into the room. She stopped at the coffin and gasped.

At first sight, Erik had frightened her. His face was turned into the pillow, and his eyes were closed. His mouth hung open and, just for a moment, Christine saw a real corpse in that coffin. Erik was completely still. Dead.

Then he snored into the pillow. A laugh bubbled up inside her-somehow, in the few steps Christine had taken to reach the bedroom, Erik had fallen back to sleep. She looked at him for a moment then. Christine and Erik most often retired at the same time, but neither had seen the other sleep. This was the only time-and the first time-Christine had ever applied this word in Erik's regard, and the word was human.

He looked human.

Christine watched him a little longer, but he started drooling into the pillow, and Christine thought it might spare him some embarrassment to wake him up now and to let him sleep later. She placed a hand under his head.

" _Erik_ ," she said.

Erik took in a deep breath, but his eyes stayed closed. "Hm?" he said.

"The bath is almost ready."

"Hm."

His face relaxed again, and Christine thought he'd gone back to sleep when he stretched, sighed, and turned his head back into the pillow. Christine smiled at that. She pushed back the blanket and hooked an arm more firmly under his head. The other came up under his legs, and for a few seconds, Christine closed her eyes and prepared to throw out her back. She tested this approach and picked up every ounce of dead weight-which apparently-wasn't much at all. Erik was surprisingly light. She knew he was thin and a little spindly, but as she brought him out of the coffin, it occurred to Christine that he hadn't ever looked _this_ thin before.

He was wearing his pajamas. All those fine suits must have purposefully added some padding to his build. He did not wake up when she turned toward the bathroom door. His head tipped forward against her chest, and Christine felt every deep breath he drew. She pushed the bathroom door closed with her hips and lowered Erik into a chair. When she took her hands away to turn off the faucet, Erik stirred again.

He murmured some things-whether they were meant to be full sentences or not, Christine didn't know. She pressed a hand into Erik's shoulder to keep him upright, and another she pressed against his cheek. She tapped it lightly.

"Erik," she said. "It's time to wake up."

Erik eyes blinked open. "Christine…" he said.

"Yes, it's time to wake up. You've got to take a bath."

Erik smiled droopily and bounced his head. His eyes slipped shut.

"Eyes open, Erik."

He groaned in response.

Christine shook her head and started working on his shirt buttons. "I'm taking this off, okay?"

Erik made no answer. Christine stopped and tipped his head back up and pulled open one of his eyes.

"You great big booby," he said.

Immediately, his eyes slipped closed again, and he muttered some more things under his breath. Christine felt his forehead. He was burning up, even worse than before. She finished unbuttoning the shirt and slipped his arms out of their sleeves.

Horrible, knotted scars melted into every muscle on his upper body. Jagged ones, little white ones-they were everywhere. Not a single part of him was untouched. The largest ones seemed to rise out of the skin, and Christine thought of some kind of shapeless worm-leech-like-plumbing into his arms and torso. That's what the scars looked like. She touched one; traced it. Delirious, Erik reached up and touched her hand.

Christine looked at the bath water-it would be cold soon. Quickly, and doing her best not to look, she took the rest of his clothes and put them aside. She rolled up her sleeves and picked him up again, bridal style. She lowered him carefully into the water.

Erik seemed less tense in the bath-an outcome Christine definitely had not expected. She soaped up a rag and started running it up and down his arms. She wondered exactly how lucid he could be. He hadn't made a single sound of protest since she told him to open his eyes. Even now his head was tilted back, and he was looking completely content.

"You look a lot nicer when you smile," Christine said.

Erik broke into a dopey grin.

"I'll admit," Christine said. "The first time I saw you I thought-I thought-well it's silly."

Erik snorted. "Yes, silly…"

"I thought at the time you might be the Nøkken."

"Nøkken…" he hummed.

"Yes. Like in the stories Papa used to tell when I was little. About the gnomes, and the faeries, and the things that live in the lake."

" _Nøkken_. Beautiful. Is the Nøkken beautiful?" he asked.

Christine leaned him forward and scrubbed his back. "...I wouldn't know," she finally said. "I've never seen him. He has yellow eyes. Like you.

"Beautiful..."

"And remember the flowers you had in your parlor? He likes flowers very much."

Erik laughed. "The flowers were for you."

"Yes," she said. "But the Nøkken is like you more than I. He makes music."

"You make music."

"With my voice. The Nøkken uses his violin. And he lives in the water-lakes and rivers."

"He lives on the lake," Erik said. "He is beautiful…"

Christine frowned and scrubbed a little harder than she had before. She had not mentioned that the Nøkken had been like a drowned corpse, or that the stories her papa used to tell had been horror stories. She hoped Erik would not remember this conversation.

They lapsed into silence. The only sound was the water lapping around the bathtub sides, and Erik's occasional murmur.

"I'll take you up tomorrow," Erik finally said.

Christine stopped scrubbing and looked at him. She quickly determined that he still was not lucid.

"Back to my dressing room?" she asked.

"Hm," he said.

Christine sat back. "You plan on being well enough to row me across the lake and climb through every corridor up to my dressing room mirror?"

"Hm."

"You're too sick to even stand."

Erik laughed and opened his eyes just slightly. "I am in prime health."

Christine laughed and finished scrubbing. "You'll take me up when you feel well enough," she said.

Erik made a noise of disapproval, but that was the end of their conversation.

When the water was drained, and everyone dried and dressed, Christine lifted Erik up again and brought him to the Louis-Philippe bedroom. She set him down again-probably for the last time since he'd definitely forbid it when he came to his senses-on the plush bed. Erik let his limbs sprawl until he looked like a starfish, and Christine had some difficulty pulling down the great quilt. She had to tuck in all his arms and legs again just to pull up the blankets. She stuffed a pillow under his head, checked to be sure that everything was in order, then left for another blanket.

When she came back, enormous pink quilt in hand, Erik had kicked off the old one and was sleeping on his face. Already he was drooling on the pillow, and Christine shook her head fondly.

She supposed the blankets would all be hers. She gathered up the one at the foot of Erik's bed and carried her things to the door. She would sleep in the parlor.

Christine looked back at Erik. She hoped he'd be alright until morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Erik was dreaming of Persia. _I must be_ , he thought. His bed in Persia had been this soft, although he didn't remember his legs hanging off the end so much. And it was so unbearably hot-only Persia could be so hot. So perhaps it was all a dream.

Erik looked around him but could see nothing. He could feel the smooth sheets around him, and he rubbed his arms on their cool surface. So very warm and dark.

 _And it all feels so real_ , he thought. But it had to be a dream-Erik could not remember where he had come from, how he had got here, why it was so dark and hot. Was it night time? He suffered under the thought that it might not be.

 _I'm_ _trapped_ , he thought. _Under my own work. Some unstable stone must have collapsed during construction._ Erik began to breath quickly _. No one will pull me out._

Christine awoke in a parlor chair. She pushed lazily against the weight of two blankets and groaned. Vaguely, she heard a noise from the next room.

 _Was that what woke me?_ she thought. She stilled and listened. She heard a cry.

"Erik," she murmured. Slowly, she bunched the blankets together and pushed them onto the ground. Christine yawned. "Hold on," she said. "I'm coming…" She took the candle from a nearby end table and lit it.

She was not prepared to see what she did when she opened the door to the Louis-Philippe room. Thankfully, Erik was still in bed, but he was tossing violently on top of it, his breathing loud and shallow. His eyes switched between squeezing shut and popping open; they rolled around blindly in his head.

"Erik?" she said.

Erik's head canted in her direction. "I'm down here," he called hoarsely. "I'm down here."

Christine knelt by the bed and set her candle on the table. Erik followed the light source with his eyes, as if he were trapped inside it. He was crying now.

"I'm over here," he said. He looked as if he were talking to the light on the table.

Christine placed her hands on his face and ran them over his head.

"Erik, I'm right here," she said. "I know where you are."

He looked at her as if he didn't see her. "Christine?"

"Yes, I'm here Erik. You're okay."

He grabbed her wrist tightly.

"You're alright," she whispered. "You're in bed. You're sick-remember?"

Erik shook his head. His breaths were coming in short bursts, and Christine placed one of her hands on his chest.

"Erik," she said firmly. "Where are you?"

Erik whined. "I don't know," he said. "It's dark."

"That's because the lamps aren't lit. You're in the bedroom, remember?"

His breathing slowed a little. "The bedroom."

"In your house, remember?"

"It's dark."

"Do you want me to light the lamps?"

He nodded desperately.

"Okay." Christine stood, but as her hands slipped away Erik cried out.

"Wait!" he said.

"What is it?" Christine returned a hand to Erik's cheek. She wiped away some of his tears.

"Come back," he said.

"I'm right here. I have to light the lamps."

"Don't leave. Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving. I'm only a few feet away."

She let go of him. Erik's breathing-which had slowed before-sped up again. New tears started down his face. Christine darted to and from each lamp, keeping her eyes on Erik.

"I'm still here," she called. "Don't be frightened." She brought some of the lamps a little closer and sat them around the bed so Erik could see them. "Look," she said. She held one up closer for him to see. "The lights are lit."

Erik's face relaxed into a dazed expression. His whole body stilled, and he let out a little breath of air. While he was distracted, Christine reached out and wiped the rest of his tears away. She even turned his face to the side, but Erik's eyes did not leave the lamp's light. Christine set it aside, and Erik almost rose out of bed trying to follow it. But she brought his shoulders down to meet the mattress.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Erik nodded. He didn't look altogether there, but he was relaxed now. He let out a long, shaky sigh. His eyes closed.

Christine let out her own sigh. She remembered then how tired she was and sat herself sleepily on the bed. She held Erik's hand. She couldn't tell exactly why, but Erik's face seemed so much less frightening to her, even in the light. A few minutes passed and he was sleeping almost comfortably. Christine watched his face naturally tilt into the pillow, just like it had the day before when she had seen him sleep. Experimentally, she tried to force herself to think of his face in a disgusting way-like she had before. But no matter how she looked at him, whatever disgusting image she called to mind, she couldn't stir up anything but endearment.

It was a complete flip. This was the same man she had screamed at and scratched on her first few days in the house on the lake. The same man whose masked stare made her shudder from across the dinner table. How many days had she woken up filled with horrible dread because of him?

He was drooling into her pillow again. Christine looked at him for a while and smiled. She sat for a long time looking at him. One by one, she put out the lamps. She would be there to light them if he woke up again.

Just as she was sliding a lamp back into place, Christine screwed up her nose and sneezed.

...That was odd. She let it go. Carefully, she rolled Erik to one side of the bed and slipped onto the other. She curled up and went to sleep.

A/N

Thanks everyone, for all the great ideas. They definitely helped flush out a plot for this chapter. I think I got through the writer's block, so expect some more chapters soon. Thank you everyone, for all the reviews also :)


	5. Chapter 5

Christine was dreaming of the seaside. The smack of her body against the water came to her through a vibration, not through sound. The cold was paralyzing. It hurt, and then it went numb, as if all the bones in her hands had gasped for air and then died. A murky voice screamed from above the water.

" _Christine!_ "

Christine inclined her head. The sea dragged her deeper below until the rocks at the water's edge faded into the distance. Just then a figure stepped onto the rocks, but Christine was sinking. The water warped his features.

"Christine!" the figure called.

Christine opened her eyes.

"Papa?"

Christine woke. She had not been sinking deeper into the sea, but deeper into a plush mattress in her own room in the house under the lake. A pile of blankets were the culprit-having piled on top of her, they had pushed her further and further down. They were so heavy, he had dreamt of drowning. She was very cold.

"Christine?" came a voice.

She looked over the blankets-Erik was sitting on the floor by the side of her bed, his face hidden by a white mask. He looked no better than yesterday-in fact, he looked much worse. His whole body bent forward from the strain of keeping upright, and sweat poured down the side of his neck. His breathing was loud and labored against his mask.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Christine asked feebly.

Erik's speech came out very hindered by his own breathing. "What are you doing in it?"

Christine tried to push back the blankets but her arms were too weak. When she tried to sit up, every joint ached. Christine sneezed into her hands and sniffed. Erik tucked the blankets around her more neatly.

"You're ill," he said.

"Oh no," she groaned. "But you aren't better yet!"

"No, I'm feeling well again."

"No you're not!"

"I am. I am."

"Erik," she said. They looked at each other. "We are both too ill to be having this argument again. Won't you just get in bed?"

Erik slumped. "Who will take care of you?"

Christine laughed. "It depends on who's feeling the best I suppose. Come up. We'll think of something, but we both need rest."

Christine opened the blanket, and Erik crawled meekly underneath it.

"You'll have to take your mask off," Christine reminded him.

"No," he said. "I can sleep with it on."

"Will it be comfortable? You didn't sleep with it before."

Erik didn't answer.

"...It must be very hot," Christine said.

Erik laid his head down on the pillow and she rolled closer to him. Her hand came to rest on his mask, and Erik jerked back. She pulled his collar back and touched his neck-it was burning. She hoped her hands might be cool enough to be of some comfort, and slowly Erik relaxed against the touch.

"I think you ought to take it off," Christine said.

"...This is alright. I feel comfortable."

Even so, his voice was tight with tension. Christine began drawing patterns on his neck.

"Do you remember last night? she asked.

"...No."

"You had a bath."

"A bath...I do not remember."

"I gave you one."

Erik's breathing stilled. He did not move, and Christine pulled her hand away from his neck.

"You-gave-"

"You were very ill."

They were quiet for a moment.

"You saw-"

"I saw your face."

"-my scars, you saw my-"

"Yes, it's okay. You're okay."

They were quiet again, and although Erik stared her right in the eye, his body seemed to shrink and shrink until he was very small. He tipped his mask up enough to let his hand inside, and he wiped his eyes.

"Excuse me," he said.

"It's okay."

He turned away a little, and for a while she watched him wipe his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That I gave you a bath. I-it didn't seem like a problem then. You were so sick-"

"It's okay," Erik said, but his hands were still moving under his mask.

Christine touched his wrist. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I'm not," Erik said. "I'm not crying."

Gently, Christine grasped the edge of his mask and brought it away from his face. Erik's hands only moved to replace it, so she placed the mask behind her on the bed.

"Why are you crying?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to."

"It's okay." She wrapped her hands lightly around his wrists and pulled them away so that she could see his face. "You were very upset last night as well."

Erik pushed his head into the blankets and pillows and looked at her.

"Because of the bath?" he asked.

"No, you had a dream I think. You woke up delirious. You were very frightened."

"I am sorry."

"Don't be, it's okay. Why are you so upset?"

"I didn't mean for you-I meant to just stay in my room. I didn't mean for you to see any of that."

Christine slid forward and wrapped her arms around Erik in a hug. His head rested in her shoulder. "You can't help that you got sick," she said, "But I am sorry if I embarrassed you. I was trying to help-honestly."

Erik shrugged and kept his head hidden in her shoulder.

"We can go to sleep if you want," she said.

Erik nodded. "Yes, please."

"Alright."

Christine shifted and pulled the blankets up around them more comfortably. "Are you comfortable?" she asked.

"Yes."

Christine wrapped her arms around him again, more loosely. "Okay," she said. "Goodnight, Erik."

"...Thank you. Goodnight."

A/N

Sorry this update took longer. School's starting up again so expect some delay between updates from now on. Thank you to everybody that reviewed, I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


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